


The Nanny He Never Had

by Anonymous



Series: Wee Omens [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Age Play, F/M, Fetish, Frottage, Light BDSM, Little Aziraphale, M/M, Omorashi, Sexual Fantasy, Spanking, Wet & Messy, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 22:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20881454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Little Aziraphale is Nanny Asthoreth's charge. At least, that's the sexual fantasy Aziraphale is indulging in on a rainy afternoon.





	1. The Misjudgement

**Author's Note:**

> Probably a prequel to this story https://archiveofourown.org/works/20269849. 
> 
> You're going to want to read the tags. This is a sexual fantasy and not platonic age play, despite the platonic bits. First chapter is platonic, mind.

His little hand was reaching, reaching for a biscuit, from the plate of biscuits, in the centre of the kitchen table. He was standing on tiptoe.

'Aziraphale!'

The little angel jumped, caught red handed, and blushed. Nanny was towering over him, tall and cross. Her little boy was dressed in knee-length cream-coloured shorts and a white t-shirt with a snake on it. His fluffy yellow hair was all over the place, and his baby blue eyes were very good indeed at feigning complete innocence, especially when he was being sneaky.

'I told you no biscuits before lunch,' she scolded. She took his hand and gave the back of it a little smack. He snuffled. He had been warned twice, but still. 

'Now go back and watch the movie I put on for you.'

Aziraphale pouted, but made to leave the kitchen as he was told. 

Nanny watched him, one eye on the stew she was preparing, and one eye on her wilful, distracted little brat. The brat was easily distracted by everything, especially food. He had the concentration of a leaf in the wind. And right now, he had paused with a frown on his face. Nanny looked harder. He was holding himself.

'Angel, go and have a wee, please.'

'Don't need one,' he lied, squirming. 

'Yes you do. Go and have a wee, then go back and watch the movie. I'll come and get you when lunch is ready.'

He shifted from foot to foot, then with a scowl, obeyed. Well, he obeyed her in as much as he went and stood in front of the telly. 

Aziraphale didn't need to go to toilet yet. Not yet. Not when Anna was finally getting Elsa to come out and build a snowman. He shifted from side to side, taking the pressure off. One hand was still holding himself. But he still didn't need to go. Definitely not yet.

He loved Frozen. He loved the tower of ice. He was going to get to that bit. His bladder could wait.

He spent some time on his left foot, then some time on his right. Then he found himself going from one leg to the other and back swiftly. He started to rock from side to side, and wondered if perhaps he should just pause the video. But he didn't want to. He squeezed himself. He would just watch this little bit, and then go. Yes. That would be fine. He crouched down, stood up, crossed his legs, squeezed his thighs together, put his other hand between his legs, and whimpered.

Oh. He should go now. He turned, but realised he couldn't really move. A hot dribble found its way down his inner leg. If he tried to go upstairs now he would fully pee his pants. Nanny would see he was wet and he'd be in trouble. 

Again he hopped from foot to foot, in panic. He was going to wet himself. But he suddenly had a brilliant idea. He quickly went to his knees, sitting on his heels. Just as he did, he started to properly wee. But it was okay. He was sitting on it. No one could see it. He felt it _happening_ underneath him, warm and secretive. No one would know. 

He stopped weeing, and looked down. To his confusion, the crotch of his shorts was darkened, and with a fright, he noticed the little puddle he had made beneath him on the carpet was very dark indeed. The carpet was a light brown, and he'd made it dark brown. But that was only if you looked. He realised he could keep the puddle, and his wet bottom, hidden if he stayed sitting on it. He could wait for it to dry and no one would have to know. He put his hands over the wet part of his shorts and stayed put. 

That's when Nanny called him. It was lunch time. He was supposed to go to the kitchen. But he couldn't because she'd see the puddle and his wet shorts. Uh oh. He looked up at the movie. His favourite part was coming up. 

Nanny called again. He looked down. Still very wet. Oh dear. He was going to be in trouble. He snuffled. Maybe he could just tell her he wasn't hungry?

'Angel!' came the frustrated bark. Nanny appeared in the doorway. 'I've been calling you. Lunch is ready.'

'Okay,' said Aziraphale, not moving. Nanny had turned on her heel, but sensed something was up. She stepped back into the room. 

'What are you doing?' she asked.

'Nothing.'

'Aziraphale?'

'I’m waiting.'

'What for?'

'The frozen castle,' he said. 

Nanny peered closer, thinking he was strangely still. She noticed the darkened carpet underneath him. Her heart sank. Getting this child to simply not wet his pants was a fool's errand it seemed.

'Have you done a wee, darling?' she asked, trying to be patient. 

Aziraphale pouted, his lip wobbling. 'No,' he lied, his eyes watery. 

'Angel,' said Nanny, coming closer. 'Let me see.'

'It wasn’t me!' he said quickly.

Nanny huffed at the lying and hoisted him up to standing. 'Oh wasn’t it?' she said crossly. She knelt next to him so their faces were level, and gave him a good glare. He had a very soggy bottom and his crotch was wet. It was all very incriminating. 'Did you think you could get away with that?'

'Didn’t mean to,' he said, sniffling. This had been a serious miscalculation. He knew what was coming, and had been warned enough times. 

'That was very naughty. I told you to go to the toilet half an hour ago and you disobeyed me.' 

Aziraphale started to cry, but Nanny was not swayed. She tugged his shorts and wet briefs down to reveal his bare bottom, and hauled him over her lap. 'Naughty boy!' she chided. She spanked him, his wet bottom all the more vulnerable to a good few sharp smacks. She was cross - her little angel knew better than that, and had clearly been lazy, then sneaky, and then told fibs.

'You do not fib to your nanny. And you use the toilet like a big boy.' 

He was crying and twisting in her lap as his little white bottom turned pink under the measured swats, his feet bound together by his sodden shorts. He’d tried to be clever and hide it and he’d been caught. He felt very bad indeed. 

'Nanny!' He cried. 'Sorry.'

She stood him back up in front of her, knowing his bottom was stinging just as much as it ought to. The wayward angel had tears rolling down his cheeks, a crumpled t-shirt, his little willy poking out underneath, and his wet pants pooled at his feet next to the now soaked-in puddle on the carpet. Oh dear oh dear. 

She helped him step out of his wet things and drew him in for a loving cuddle. She kissed his cheek to chase the tears away. 'Now, now, Aziraphale. Did you deserve a smacked bottom?'

He nodded ruefully. 

'Are you going to do that again?'

He shook his head, his bottom lip protruding significantly. Clearly he was not quite as stealthy as he thought he was, so better not to try to secretly wet himself until he’d got it planned better. 

'All right,' said Nanny. She gathered his things and led him to the bathroom, where she made him demonstrate exactly how big boys wee into the toilet, and reminded him that he got a gold star on the chart if he did it properly. She got a soft warm soapy sponge and made sure his tender skin was washed, and not going to suffer from his bad decision. She dried him and dressed him in freshly laundered shorts. They were light blue. They would definitely show up any accidents. Aziraphale bit his lip. 

Nanny served lunch and they watched the rest of the movie together. He squirmed in her arms, told her he needed a wee, and she praised him when he did everything correctly. 

That night, he was put in pull-ups just to be safe. As he fell asleep, he was hatching a plan. If he had a wee behind the tree in the garden, like a dog, it wouldn’t show up on the carpet. And if he was outside, his shorts would dry faster, and Nanny wouldn’t know about his secret. He wriggled and snuggled up before falling into a deep sleep. 


	2. In Her Bosom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's Nanny fantasy ramps up. *contains sexual age play*

He had tried to be good. The garden idea had not worked. He pretended to be a dog and peed behind the tree in the garden, but Nanny saw him from the window and charged outside to catch him. She smacked his bottom right there, and Aziraphale wondered if the neighbours saw and heard what he'd done. He felt ashamed, he realised, as he sat on the naughty step. 

He wasn't trying to be bad. It was just that actually going upstairs to the bathroom took so long. But he didn't want to make Nanny cross anymore.

She was happy with his better behaviour. She tickled his tummy as he sat on her lap, a leg either side of her woollen skirt. She bobbed her knees so her little angel could feel like he was riding a horse. He giggled, and she cuddled him. 

Later than evening, she lay back on the sofa with her little angel, who was wrapped in a blanket and snoozing on her chest. Nanny was reading a book about autumnal recipes, and despite her bony frame, made a very cosy cushion, as far as Aziraphale was concerned. 

He stirred. He felt a familiar pang indicating he needed a wee, but he didn’t want to move. He was so warm and Nanny’s embrace was so lovely. It was such a nice snooze. He wanted to go back to the snooze and keep the loud thoughts out of his head. But the nagging in his abdomen made it impossible. 

He thought if he could just wee a little bit, it would help. It would be enough and he would be able to relax again. So he let go and it started. He felt his underpants get wet, then stopped himself. But he still couldn't relax - the nagging was still there. He snuggled closer to Nanny. He started to wee again, slowly, just a little bit, but soon he couldn't stop. He had to hope it wouldn’t go through the blanket. 

But being little and sleepy, Aziraphale had forgotten that the blanket was only over his back, not under his front. He was peeing a lot - he could feel it over his thighs and tummy. And he was wetting Nanny’s skirt.

‘Oh _angel_,’ she scolded, feeling some heat through her skirt.

Aziraphale tensed. But a clever idea came to him. He would pretend to be asleep! Yes, good idea.

'Nuh uh,' she said with a tut. 'I know you weren’t asleep. Naughty boy.'

He cuddled up closer and hid his face in her bosom. She petted him. He felt very wet, but being held close to Nanny also made him feel tingly. He knew it was bad, but he wanted to rub. He liked rubbing. Sometimes he just needed to do it. He pressed himself against Nanny, just where he’d wet. It made him feel so nice. He put his thumb in his mouth and rolled his hips, very lightly. Nanny said nothing, so he did it again. Perhaps she couldn’t feel it. He started to rub a little faster. 

‘Aziraphale,’ she said gently. ‘You shouldn’t do that.’ He stilled for a moment, fearing a telling off, but couldn’t control himself. He lightly rubbed himself against her again, still sucking his thumb. She was still petting him. She wasn’t shouting. She hadn’t smacked him. He thought if he did it very quickly it would be over before she got angry. He rutted gently, but his hips wanted him to go fast.

He emitted half breaths and dry moans, still trying to be fairly inconspicuous. Perhaps if he was secretive about it, they could both pretend it wasn’t really happening. He could pretend he was just getting comfortable. He hoped Nanny didn’t know what he was trying to do. He felt more wetness in his underpants. It was going to happen, and in Nanny’s arms. He couldn't stop. He needed to do it. He rubbed and rubbed, seeking that magic moment which always helped him relax, adoring the feel of the wool against his wet cotton pyjamas. He’d wet his Nanny. But she wasn’t angry. And he was still so cosy in his blanket. And he was already wet. He felt Nanny hold him tight. There was no mistaking what he was doing now, his movements quite deliberate, and he had to finish before she stopped him. 

‘Tut tut tut, angel,’ she cooed, her voice low, stroking her rascal's hair as he frotted against her. She kissed him on the head as he started to pant and whimper, the humping erratic. 

He gave a cry, and pulled the blanket over his face. He felt hot pulses of his seed burst through his already wet clothes and collect on the skirt. He shuddered through the undulations, and continued to rub against Nanny until it was all out. 

His mind began to clear, he tensed. Nanny was still stroking his hair. Surely she knew how naughty he’d been? Surely she’d be cross? Surely he’d get a spanking?

He gathered the courage to peer up at her. ‘I didn’t mean to,’ he said.

‘Is that so?’ asked Nanny. She lifted him up a little bit to inspect the damage. ‘Look what you did to my skirt.’ She didn’t sound happy, but she did sound angry, either. 

Aziraphale peeped underneath himself to see a dark wet patch on the woollen material, combined with a creamy deposit, and a large wet stain on the front of his pyjamas, also with creamy evidence. 

He quickly lay back down as if he could hide it.

‘It’s too late now, I’ve seen it,’ she said, barely keeping a note of humour out of her voice. Her mouth was quirking up at the side. ‘You’ve made quite the mess.’

Aziraphale pouted, his eyes brimming. ‘Are you going to spank me?’ he asked. 

‘I think you need a bath, first and foremost. And you won’t be getting any pudding tonight.’

Aziraphale scowled. He’d far rather have a spanking than miss out on pudding.

But Nanny had more to say. ‘Before I put you into bed tonight,’ she said, ‘I will put you over my knee and smack your bottom.’

No pudding _and_ a spanking? Aziraphale slumped miserably, and then wriggled. He was damp and cold already. Why couldn’t she just smack him now and get it over and done with? He supposed he deserved to be tortured. 

He was given a lovely hot bubble bath. Nanny seemed oddly calm, but glared at him a lot. She towelled him off, which he loved, especially when she towelled his hair so it stood up on end. He did indeed go without pudding, despite some needling and attempts at negotiation, but he knew better than to sulk given he was yet to go across Nanny's knee.

When bedtime came, she sat on the edge of his bed and got him into his white cotton pyjama top, but before putting the bottoms on, she picked him up and put him over her knee. He started to sniffle immediately.

'Oh my naughty little angel,' she said. She smacked his little cheeks a few times, before reaching for a marble hairbrush. The hairbrush had been threatened for use should naughty angels be _particularly_ naughty. It seemed his behaviour qualified. She brought it down on his bottom - two spanks on each buttock. It was a cold, hard thwack which left a dull throb, and the point was made.

Nanny picked Aziraphale up and stood him in front of her. He sobbed to himself, his bottom hurting, as she put him in his pyjama bottoms. Then she pulled him into her lap and cuddled him tight, showering him with kisses. He wanted to be enveloped by her forever...

* * *

Back in his London bookshop, the Principality Aziraphale, a 6000 year old ethereal being, was on his bed, naked, and urgently humping a pillow, for the third time in a row. It had rained all afternoon, and he’d nothing to do but fantasise about early life years and a Nanny he had never had. Such lurid, forbidden fantasies of warm hugs and fair punishment and intimate, personal care. Such illicit desires. Such dreadful, bodily pleasures. He saw nanny’s wet skirt in his mind’s eye and came, soaking the pillow in ejaculate again, but this time with an intensity that really hit home. His body flooded with ecstasy. _Oh what a naughty angel. _

Just before he fell asleep, a miracle rid the scene of any evidence of hours of self-pleasuring, and he could only hope that Crowley’s odd, demonic powers would not extend to reading his mind.

And he slept like a baby.


End file.
